A bird chirped, the herald of dawn’s coming. Men slumbered. The watch paced. One man by the north path, just becoming visible, swayed as though dozing on his feet. An aura of gray touched the treetops as more birds assayed their predawn song. There was something he ought to have understood and acted on, but had missed.

“Heya!”

He ran back to the threshold. The south path guard was waving his hands, running toward the camp; he tripped and fell hard, cursing. Within the shelter, the children were already awake and alert.

A woman wearing a lord’s cloak rode into the clearing, white cloth unfurling like wings as she raised a staff to command their attention.

“You ass-kissing turds. Rise as I command!” The voice carried without being a shout. Its resonance hung in the air as men scrambled up.

An armed woman rode beside her. He blinked twice, before he recognized her: Zubaidit! Had she betrayed them?

As the two females rode forward, his mind sorted out what he thought he was seeing from what was right in front of his face. The cloak was Eridit, but her bearing so changed and her aspect so frightening that it was hard to see in this cloaked woman the recklessly self-absorbed young actress who had dandled the other three men and afterward thrown Shai down beneath the overhang and, well, wicked him.

“Lord Radas sent me! Why are you loitering here when you are needed in Haldia? We are angry at your disobedience! Get your gear! Move out quickly!”

Her gaze passed over Shai as if she did not recognize him. Zubaidit, measuring the movements of the men as they grabbed gear or slouched out of lean-tos and ruined houses, marked him. Both women were dressed more conservatively than he was used to seeing them, far less flesh exposed; Bai was accustomed to having a lot of freedom of movement, while Eridit had just liked flaunting it. But now Bai wore a shift under her laced leather vest, and leather trousers for riding, while Eridit wore richer garb, a silk tabard and flowing trousers whose bright blue color shone in the rising dawn light. Her glossy black hair was twisted up on her head and held in place by lacquered sticks.

Twist and his cronies formed a tight knot, blocking the path into the village. They looked skittish, but they held their ground. “I see no winged horse,” Twist said, although his voice quavered.

Eridit raised a hand, as if giving an order.

A hiss sounded. An arrow buried itself in Twist’s throat. He crumpled, as the men around him shouted in fear and bumped into each other in their haste to get away from the stricken man. His body spasmed, legs pumping as he gurgled.

“We do not tolerate disobedience,” cried Eridit, and even Shai shuddered at her imperious fury.

A man came running from the byre. “Heya! Heya!” Sweating and gray, he stumbled to a halt as he stared at the two mounted women with suspicion and fear. “Sergeant’s dead. Not a cut, or welts, or bruises on his throat. He’s just dead.”